PewDieCry: Back to September
by Ashlight11
Summary: Cry and Pewds spend a weekend together in a mutual home when PewDie receives news of a fatal, random shooting. While he struggles with Marzia's death, Cry deals with the news that his father has returned to his family in Florida. The shared feelings of grief leave both feeling lonely and confused-about life, about everything they've known. Possible smut, don't like don't read AU


**A.N: Yes, welcome, hello people who clicked here! Not only my first gay-relationship fic but also first human fic as well (Meaning humans as my main character), which hopefully won't hinder its progress too much. **

**I suppose I need a disclaimer now. A very large one. Because I sorta feel bad doing this, but I do hope it's not too offensive. **

**Cryaotic (Cry), PewDiePie (Pewds, PewDie, Felix), CinnamonToastKen, Sp00n, Red, and the rest of the Late Night Crew are real people, with real feelings and this fiction reflects **_**None **_**of them (as of September 15, 2013). That is why I wrote **_**AU **_**under the summary. I also don't promote doing exactly what I'm doing right here. **_Hypocrisy. _**Also, the places and events in this book may be a mixture of fiction and reality- (Exp: there is a Heron Hollow in Wolfeboro, New Hampshire, but the house does not exist there, but in Vermont)** **Lastly, I won't mention Cry's real name, nor his brothers, throughout the fic. He's reiterated that he does **_**not **_**want the information to be passed around.**

**That will be the only one for the whole story, swear.**

There's a slight chill in the air now, everything can feel it as trees dress for the occasion and cars' windshields hide themselves behind a warm fog. Animals curl themselves in a musky blanket of leafy burrows, crumbling corpses to hide their thickening fur. It was nearing October, clouds gathering overhead to begin their siege across the skies, dropping bombardments of rain and snow, darkening the sun and cutting the ground off from the summer heat. Surely the land will soon hibernate, hidden under a layer of white down, waiting for the return of the light.

Just as the land was celebrating its last with the harvest and clashing colors, humans were as well. A small town in the Northeast: Wolfeboro, New Hampshire, was a halfway point for a few friends. The popular summer-home town that was surrounded by the water held a quiet secret, a house stood on Heron Hollow by the shore of Crescent Lake stood secluded and unused for most of the year. Unlike the rest of the houses on the street, this one was a one-story-and-a-basement ranch-style, with a low gray roof and cedar planks instead of siding. The whole thing gave off a very rustic appeal, especially with the gravel-strewn driveway and dying grass; but really it was just as roomy as some of the other houses around. The road stood desolate and lonely, a few leaves prematurely falling to the surface of the lake when the quiet sound of a motor disturbed the rustling silence.

A dark blue Honda prelude rolled down the street, spinning twigs and foliage away from the practically-new tires. The fancy New York license plate announced that the owner was straight from the closest international airport, a stranger in a quiet town. Normally it would only ever be seen in the summer, when the air was warm and the water was decent, this car trailed by many others, the inhabitants of the small house. But as the cool fingers of autumn began to stretch across the land, it was unusual to see the sleek car bump up the driveway and through the potholes, almost nicking the body on the uneven gravel surface. Crunching to a stop the engine purred for a few seconds, idling before falling silent as the driver twisted the keys in their home, restoring the peace to the quiet landscape. Inside, the twenty-four-year old male sat back, his hand automatically running through his hair in a nervous motion. Behind him, piled up in the passenger and back seats, were personal items for his vacation, a computer monitor and hard drive, along with a portable modem were crammed into a cardboard box; sleeping supplies and hygiene in the back with a few pairs of clothing as well. Lying above all of that, a ceramic white mask rested on an angle, its poker face staring blankly at the sky.

A sigh escaped Cry's lips as he pushed a lank of hair back, running his hand through the dark auburn strands again while he exhaled all the air in his lungs, thinking. The house before him was the summer home that he- and a few other YouTubers, including PewDiePie, Spoon, Red and Ken- used to meet up and play together while enjoying the cool air and the lake outside their door. A few years ago they had all pitched together to buy the house for the general idea of using it for streams or vacation in the warmer months- this explained its abandoned state in the later time of autumn. Inside the floors were most likely bare of anything but the mismatched couches that they had occasionally picked up from clearance pits. Both the first level's main quarters and the whole basement was covered in outlets and beanbags, pillows and TV screens with low tables for food or feet. The three bedrooms were rarely used, and house rules stated that there was no sex either- no one had to deal with finding used condoms under their bed. But why would any of this be worrying Cry, this quiet waterside paradise? Actually, what was on his mind came from a few weeks ago.

"Bro!" PewDie cried, Cry's skype cam showing the Swede's charismatic face, in all its unshaved and tousled glory.

"Pew-!" The masked man began, breaking off into a yawn that he covered instinctively, even with the Cry Guy mask on. "Pewds!" He eventually greeted back, happy to be talking with his friend, feeling lucky that the blonde even had enough connection to form a comprehendible picture on the screen- he was in Italy again.

PewDiePie suddenly blinked, gazing into the camera deeply, "Cry, what time is it over there?"

"Doesn't matter bro," Cry replied happily, and the small clink of ice in his alcoholic drink reminded him the glass was still there. Without really thinking, he lifted the cup with one hand, the mask with the other until the bottom contours of his face and lips were showing, then took a long sip from the glass of amber liquid. Truthfully the time gap was killer, a whole six hours ahead of the east coast of the U.S. So though one was relishing the rewards of a good night's sleep, the other was staying up, three a.m., with a job to head out to in the morning. But he hadn't talked with PewDie for so long that he felt the need to stay up.

"So guess what?" His speech was a little slurred, but the conversation got along fine, the two bouncing stories back and forth, playing a game or two of Worms Revolution. Somehow they got onto the subject of what would be going on in the next week, and Cry mentioned his little vacation off to go enjoy the season at their mutual home.

"No _way_." The blonde haired man practically shouted, blue eyes lighting up. "I was going to come over too. You know, a little States to balance out all these countries. Plus Marzia thinks I could bear to put on a few pounds." Abruptly he pushed himself away from the desk, standing upright with mock pride; he pulled his shirt up, past his stomach, chest and all the way to his neck, exposing his whole torso to the other. Holding the unruly fabric up with his chin, he reached down to grab a handful of skin from his stomach, making a fist and shaking it comically at the webcam. "Does this look like skin and bones to you? Huh? Huh?!"

Cry had been paying more attention to the game than the image, and when he looked up to see the half-naked Pewds pouting, he laughed at the sight. "Well, that definitely looks like skin, friend," He pointed out cheekily, as the blonde narrowed his eyes slightly, then shared a laugh as well.

"But anyway," He said, then quickly cut out with a Swedish word, '_Fan' _as Cry took out one of his worms with a shotgun, sending him flying through the air to land on a steep slope. "Stay with me, Benkt! Stay…!" He pleaded with the computer as the worm rolled quickly and surely into the waiting waters. "Why would you do that? _Why _would you _do _that Cry?!" He mewled, big eyes wide with sadness while the one named laughed quietly, attempting to smother the noise.

"And the best part is my handy shotgun has two shots." The American crowed, directing his worm across the map to the closest offending enemy, and a sly grin spread across his face. "Oh Arvid…" He called sweetly into the microphone; unbeknownst to him, PewDiePie shivered in the video feed, staring into the blackness with emotion sparking his eyes. "Arvid…" Cry called again, voice dripping with the seduction that he normally saved for a worm he meant to murder. "Have I told you how handsome you look in this light?" He began, lining up his weapon with plenty of time left in his turn. "Because pretty soon, you're going to be looking quite swell underwater." The little avatar on screen pulled the trigger, sending a shot straight at the low-health Arvid. "See you around, kind sir."

"Ughhh," Pewds grunted deeply, though Cry still wasn't looking at him, staring at the arch that the worm made as it landed further down in a gully, losing at least half his health. It was obvious that PewDie was on the losing side of the game. But when Cry finally looked up, he swallowed nervously at the sight.

The Swede was leaning back against his chair, eyes closed and head hanging somewhat. On his face was an odd expression that Cry would expect from someone receiving a back massage- one of pure bliss with an edge of hunger he couldn't describe. When the fellow gamer didn't say anything for another couple of heartbeats, the normally-masked-one cleared his throat to clear the air, and saw a grin spread across Pewds's face. Cry returned the gesture, unseen, though a bit unsure until his friend spoke. "You've killed me," the blonde giggled quietly and the conversation picked up where it had left off before, now with Cry dismissing the sight he had witnessed before.

"I'll be up there next week," He started again, glancing at PewDiePie every once and a while, trying to drive the image from his mind. _His neck exposed, I could see him swallow, every breath, every muscle and he was so… _The thoughts were quickly banished from his mind- PewDie was a friend, nothing more. It would wreck their relationship if he admitted that the blonde YouTuber had captured his attention slowly over the past few months; so instead of voicing his thoughts, Cry continued to discuss their visit- it turned out that both of them were visiting at the same time. Though the American had done this the past few years in a row, and enjoyed the quiet and solidarity the house offered, he didn't have the heart to crush the excitement on PewDie's face. Apparently all the trees, lakes and mountains reminded him of Sweden, "But with better wifi!" And so the dates were set- Cry arrived a week later, sitting in his car, terrified of the other man showing up.

Leaves tapped gently against the glass as a strong wind kicked up, causing small whirlwinds of the shriveled brown remains to rise and scatter along the ground, playful as excited children. The whispered called Cry out of the car, unlocking it with a pop before stepping out into the cool air; it was a somewhat-comfortable sixty-four degrees, causing the Floridian to sport a green 'sup sweatshirt and long dark pants. His hair was long- too long for his own comfort, but he hadn't planned his time in order to get a haircut, causing the dark auburn locks to curl around his ears. Inhaling deeply, the young man stretched, feeling his muscles roll after sitting on the plane, then driving, for such a long time. With a cautious glance around him, Cry deemed it was safe to walk about the house for a little bit, first inspecting it for damage, then turning on the circuit breaker hidden under a removable shingle. After the maintenance was done, he strode back to the car and gathered his belongings and walked up to the door to unlock it. The key twisted in the lock with a bit of resistance, rust flaking off as Cry swore softly and pushed even harder until the door gave in, throwing him inside.

"Ugh," he muttered, then rolled over on his back in the square of sunlight, waiting to regain some breath. Soon enough though, he braced his arm back and propped himself up, not even caring about the open door or the dark house behind him, and closed his brown eyes to take in the sunlight. "Hmmm, good," He noted; the light was warm, but unlike in the south, he couldn't feel his skin burning while he sat there, he wasn't even sweating. "Ah, this is the part where I start talking to myself," He breathed, then chuckled quietly. Getting up, he felt almost if eyes were judging him and flicked on the lights carefully, and wiping his fingers along his sweatshirt when they came away sticky. "Ewww…" He grimaced and then hesitantly sniffed them, trying to identify the scent that was somewhere between alcohol and sugar. His lips curled when the short-lived thought of tasting it crossed his mind and then Cry pulled his things inside before taking in the rest of the mess.

It was obvious that someone- probably Spoon or Ken- had been here recently. There were take-out containers all over the tables, empty bottles stacked in the kitchen-area, and general garbage everywhere along the ground. "Shit," he swore, stepping around what looked to be a pile of broken glass that didn't make it all the way to the garbage. "Dammit, Spoon," The YouTuber continued, looking around for something to pick up the small pile with- it would be more dangerous if it were spread around the house. All he could hope for was that there wasn't any more somewhere else, hiding under a cushion or in a drawer. Obviously this was Spoon- Red, living in her own apartment, usually took care of the house when she came over. Spoon, on the other hand, lived in a bachelor pad with his older brother while they were both in college; Cry had been there a few times- it had been a mess. Actually…. Normally it was Scott and Spoon that made the biggest messes, especially when they got around to drinking and going out.

"Duh duh duhhhhh," He started humming, then started full-out singing, kicking garbage in the general direction of the garbage- a fan-made barrel with its name scrawled across the front, half obscured by the plastic bag liner. Pretty soon it was weighed down with the crap that had previously covered the floor, and the small mountain of glass as well; bottles followed closely, and Cry didn't care whether they shattered or not against the metal container. All the stuff his friends tended to buy were way too strong for his taste- he _wanted _to remember the time he spent up here- even though he would come up in the middle of the summer as well, the fall seemed special to him.

The twentysomething continued singing, only stopping to laugh at some of the obscene lyrics, or the random ponderings of if his off-key voice could shatter the windows he had just uncovered. Dust floated through the air in yellow beams, the sun setting over the water and through the trees on the other side of Crescent Lake. Eventually the little house was back in order with Cry storing a few cases of Monster in the fridge, and teabags by the brewer in the corner. Throughout all this time the ceramic mask sat on the top of the couch by the door, ready to be used at a moment's notice if a certain Swede came knocking, the thin elastic strings were easy to pull over his head. But as fate had it, he wouldn't need it that night.

He stayed up fairly late waiting for his foreign friend, at some point claiming a bedroom by throwing all his belongings onto the bed. Around midnight he left the TV on and rolled out his sleeping bag on the wrapped mattress that he had been too lazy to open after being stored in the attic for months. His monitors and hard drive were stacked on a desk in the corner, not precisely where they would stay, but close enough to hastily plug everything in. After stripping casually down to a pair of bed shorts and his boxers, Cry walked back to the main room and flopped back down on the couch. He didn't intend to fall asleep, but he woke up around one a.m, the white light of the TV reflecting off his pail skin, and the thin lines that marred his upper arms, forearms and chest. Oddly enough, he was incredibly white to be living in the sunshine state, being made fun for it as a kid didn't change his ideas as he grew up, instead he just stayed inside playing WoW or other Rpgs. The only things that stopped him from playing were power outages and school- his mother didn't mind the constant internet, and when his little brother came along, they would do everything together.

In the corner, the red numbered face glowed consistently, showing the seconds ticking away, the seconds lost or spent or wasted. Cry stumbled to bed after kicking the door closed, altered the alarm on the little clock and fell into bed spread eagle. Unmoved by the crunching of the plastic wrap around the mattress, the Floridian was flooded by nostalgic memories of crawling into a tent when he was much younger, and when he had his family together.


End file.
